Their Eyes Are Mirrors
by Dharakfire
Summary: "Danny doesn't take much and doesn't ask for much either, but the ghost gave him more and more, filling the space settled in the center of his dew-thread." Pitch Pearl. One-shot.


**Author's Note: **Haven't uploaded on FF for a long time. Anyways, this is for a friend on tumblr, who requested it and got me to ship it as a guilty pleasure. I didn't know I would fall /this/ hard for a ship.

Eh. Please read and review ;u;

Her eyes are like moonscape.

They are captivating, full of knowledge-vigor that he sometimes forgets the air halfway in his lungs. They are /raw/ but they are not one of autumn wind like he is accustomed to - and he is a fool because he does not notice.

Danny always was a fool in his own right.

The years still hold the same weight they did back then when he was still but a mere child. And he still is, because his back is heavy and he is bone-weary.

When he goes to sleep, he does not dream anymore. It's a change he doesn't notice at first because it's whisper-slight, barely there - and when he does notice, he doesn't see the stars anymore.

But he still hears an earth-voice when he sleeps.

—-

Danny's mind was constantly drawing constellations then - whether he knew it or not didn't matter.

All he knew was that soon the dreamless nights became like that of the abyss: empty, cold, an absence of stars. It stares at him, stares and /stares/, until he looks away.

When he tries to speak, it doesn't come out more than a heavy sigh and a darting of nervous eyes. His fingers twitch one, twice, and then he tries to think of those eyes, the one with the moon rise in their horizons.

Those eyes. Oh, how he used to love those eyes.

Now, it's more of a nuance - he's bone-shaken because then he forgets what his palms look like, and then sleep completely leaves him. The rain is all he knows, the soft tapping on his window that he barely registers.

But then the lullaby voice would come again, and he's reminded of the choice he has to make.

"Stop your flight," It would hum. "She is ready for the end of the world. But are you ready to let go?"

He becomes determined then, and this time he sees the stars for what they were.

—-

Danny is sorry for many things.

When he saw her - Sam - at a foggy morning in a pale-quiet park, he forced strength into his muscles and walked over to her, slowly enough that he almost turned away. She looked up at him with those gentle star-riddled eyes, the movement swift and seemless.

He turned his pale-smoke eyes away.

"I'm sorry," Was all he said.

Danny wanted to hold her close - wanted to tell her that everything is going to be okay, wanted to apologize for messing everything up. He wanted think of the moonscape eyes. But he doesn't do any of those, but stood there, bone-guilty.

But she only smiled bitterly, eyes like autumn-fog. "I'll remember those moments we had." She bit her lip. Danny looked at her. "I'm grateful for the memories."

He wanted to cry at this point. His vision swayed and he hated himself and hated this moment, but he could never hate her as her hand reached out, palm to the side and open.

Sam doesn't have to ask anything. Danny knew what she meant with the simple gesture. He could only nod as he took her hand in his own, his fingers unbearably numb.

He missed her warmth. But her palm was colder than he remembered.

—-

When Danny apologizes, he apologizes with his eyes.

Of course he knew that. He did the same thing too.

But this wasn't about him - that other half, the other person, the ghost - it was about the boy who knelt with hair over his eyes and his fingernails nipping at his own skin.

He wanted to help that boy whose eyes aren't forest-bone but ice-spined. There isn't much he could offer, being purely a remnant of what was and what isn't. All he had were words, ethereal in their own terms, but set with the eternity of memory.

But maybe words were enough. Maybe, because Danny remembered that /he/ was there.

"I love you," He does not say. "I'm sorry."

—-

He doesn't speak for days.

Danny, that is - because his eyes hold the ghosts of what was.

Strange how that worked. Danny, counting the scars on his skin, counting the number of nights where the stars did not show.

And him, he, the other boy, the spirit - he with the voice of sunlit tropics and eyes the shade of spring dusk - could only watch, could only speak softly with a hand about Danny's shoulder.

How slumped his shoulders were. How pitiful his posture was. The spirit was empathetic, longing for the days were the rain-eyed boy didn't look out the window only to count starless evenings.

Danny could never bring himself to speak his name. He could only listen, only whisper. But the spirit understood. Of course the spirit understood his threaded lips. He was him, after all.

So he smiled. He spoke. He kissed a shoulder, he touched a nape of the neck.

He wasn't the only one to see a little bit of light through the rain-etched skies.

—-

What is unnatural?

Danny does not know. But when he thought about it, he thought of wolves, thought of eagles and bears and-

And it was strange, because the eyes that ripped oceans raw was speaking in blinks, in twists - and the spined-lined trees know, they know those blinks and those twists in a way that the moon does not.

Danny breathed. The ghost did not.

It was a pivot - an endless motion from one foot to another - between them. Danny doesn't take much and doesn't ask for much either, but the ghost gave him more and more, filling the space settled in the center of his dew-thread.

Maybe there was more to their story, more than the words etched into the linings of bark, but Danny does not believe much. He knows of the fog and of the clouds, but he knows the forest best.

And the ghost said, "I love you."

And the boy said, "I know."

And the ghost said, "You are not alone."

And the boy said, "I am you."

And the ghost said, "The sun will miss you."

And the boy said, "The moon will miss you."

And the ghost said, "The oceans dream."

And the boy said, "The forests sleep."

Then their kingdom was no more, leaving nothing behind but teeth and scarlet fingertips.


End file.
